


Catch Me

by Sovereign_Tea



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bloodhound AFAB, Canon-Typical Violence, Competency Kink, Mirage is a banana-for-brains flirt, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Predator/Prey, miragehound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovereign_Tea/pseuds/Sovereign_Tea
Summary: Leave it to Elliott Witt, the flirt of the Apex games, to find the killer instincts of the reigning Champion Bloodhound insanely attractive. And leave it to Bloodhound to find themselves drawn to Elliott's charm despite themselves. Let the game of hunter and hunted begin.





	1. Bunker

**Author's Note:**

> Miragehound doesn't nearly have enough fics, so I've decided to make my own self-indulgent one. But hi, I'm new to the fandom and I love Hound and think fashion disaster Elliott is the greatest thing since sliced bread. 
> 
> You can also find me at https://twitter.com/DarkModeTea on twitter where I retweet Apex and Overwatch stuff.

There was nothing quite as anxiety-inducing as the beep and howl of the sirens to accompany the woman's call of "Ring Closing". Perhaps the actually fizzing and bubbling noise of the orange electromagnetic field ring--that was a close second for sure, especially knowing the sharp burning sting that accompanied those noises. Most people kept an eye on their digital maps--like an obsession, making sure that they were always within the safe zone of the next bubbled area. It was a fear every aspiring champion had; nobody wanted to be caught in the orange glare of that death trap, and especially not without some medical supplies.

  
And yet here was Elliott Witt, leaning against the inside wall of a shack, gazing out the half broken window--one that an enemy had almost beaten in to get to him--watching a figure just across the river from where he was, leisurely making their way through the orange haze of the ring as though it meant nothing. They knew nobody was stupid enough to venture into the electromagnetic field after them, especially not after having dusted an entire squad single-handedly while Caustic and Lifeline rushed ahead to set up a small hold in Bunker. That squad wouldn't be in there too long, at least, that's what Mirage figured; the ring was too close for that, and they had to know Mirage and his squad were close. His own teammate, Wraith, had gone scouting north up the river, leaving her blue and silver swirling portal behind, while Gibraltar sat wheezing on the floor beside Elliott, shoving syringes into his arm.

  
Underneath their shelter water rushed by with a calming noise--completely opposite of the too-close-for-comfort sizzle of the Ring. This area had to be Elliott's favorite. Shade was cast across the area from the surrounding hillsides, there was shelter in the huts that dotted along the water, and the river itself was nice and cool. Not to mention there wasn't all that dust and debris like there was around Skull Town. If it weren't for the threat of a squad jumping down on him, Elliott could see himself dozing on the banks of the water and just watching the clouds roll overhead.

  
But he didn't join the games to pick flowers and admire nature. He needed to win--his paycheck from the bar wouldn't cover him if he put on a bad show for the hundreds of cameras watching his every move. Winning wasn't everything, but looking like someone worthy of admiration in the field to the people watching from their screens at home and from the Apex viewing arena was what buttered his bread.

  
That wasn't to say he didn't like an easy victory sometimes though.

  
Elliott watched the figure across the river closely as they checked some pill shaped loot chests, picked up what looked like some ammo, before making their way closer to Bunker. They had to have been taking some sort of damage from the Ring, but the confidence in which they moved, knowing they were untouchable...Elliott wanted to pursue them. But that would be foolish, especially with Caustic setting up in Bunker. His own squad would have to go there eventually more than likely, but not until Wraith was back. He could see the other challenger wore dark clothes and looked a little bulky, and there was an odd shape on their head--a hat of some sort, but at the distance, he was at he could only see that they were human in shape. Well, that ruled out Pathfinder. In their hands, they cradled a large weapon, but that hardly seemed to affect their walking speed. With it being rather late in the game, Elliott had to assume that they had looted some pretty good gear already...

  
The figure paused as they reached safety just inside the Ring, and, with hardly a glance, held up the sniper rifle, pointed straight at the building Mirage and Gibraltar were in and fired a shot. The bullet from their sniper rifle--a Triple Take?--shattered the remaining glass of the window and embedded itself in the wooden beam right next to Elliott's head.

  
"An enemy?!" Gibraltar was halfway to getting up, quickly pulling the syringe from their wrist. The hulking tank of a man had taken a lot of bullets in a skirmish not too long before and was still trying to recover.

  
Elliott shooed them back down to sitting. "It was a warning shot. They're not engaging." But even with that said, Elliott still ducked a little to the side so the building wall would hopefully obscure the other person's view. He could see the figure lower their long gun, holster it, then dart towards the open doors to Bunker that promptly slammed shut behind them. "They're going into Bunker."

  
Gibraltar slid back down, pulling out the syringe that he had half used and plunged it back into his arm. "Who was it?"

  
Elliott shook his head. "Dunno. They were too far away."

  
That had been a hip fired shot. And it had nearly gotten him in the head. All the hair on the trickster's arms were standing up under the sleeves of his jumpsuit, and a tingle traveled up his spine. Their opponent was confident and skilled. And that thrilled Elliott like no other. But who could it be? His first guess was Bangalore, but he had worked with her before, and she had been more of a shotgun up close and personal kind of girl. He had ruled out Pathfinder just on shape alone. Wraith, Lifeline, Caustic, and Gibraltar were all accounted for. Was it some newcomer?

  
The portal gave a warning noise before Wraith was coming through it. Her silver-white eyes scanned the room and once she saw it was only her squadmates she dismissed the portal so as not to be followed. "Found some shotgun shells for that Peacekeeper of yours," she told Elliott smoothly before tossing him a box containing ammunition. "And some shield batteries for you, Gibraltar."

  
Elliott liked Wraith. The first time he worked with her, he had almost written her off as snooty and standoffish. But as they had progressed around the island, offing other squads, directing each other to cover, he had found that she was just...shy. They had kept in contact after that match, both agreeing they worked well together, and somehow after a couple of meetings at the bar, and even a lunch out once, that they made a good duo---good friends. She could stomach the amount of self-confidence Mirage liked to dazzle people with, and he wasn't one to pry into the past that she seemed to struggle with at times. Gibraltar wasn't a bad guy either in Elliott's book--after all, he had come from a career where he saved people for a living. And he certainly had brought that need to protect to the Apex Arena. He had a booming laugh and a positive outlook that made it hard to believe there was even a chance their squad would lose. Especially with that big blue shield of his.

  
Elliott shoved some of the shells away in his backpack while using the rest to reload his Peacekeeper. That had to be his favorite gun. There was just something about the sharp noise it made when it shot, and just the name alone seemed like something out of a movie about a justice-seeking cowboy. He nodded his curl-clad head towards the window. "Lifeline, Caustic, and someone else has taken up res--red---they're in Bunker."

  
Wraith's brow quirked. "Who's their other?"

  
"Whoever it was--" Gibraltar finally took to standing, all healed up and ready to go with a Flatline in hand. They tapped the hole in the wall where the bullet had lodged itself. "They have a sniper scope and they know we're here."

  
"But they didn't engage." It wasn't a question. Wraith knew what that meant, and she sighed because of it. "That means they're laying a trap for us in Bunker. They know we're going to come to them."

  
Elliott leaned back against the wall, though he avoided the line of sight with the window just in case their buddy got trigger happy over in Bunker. "Well, we certainly can't disappoint them."

  
Wraith shook her head. "It's an obvious trap, banana-for-brains. We would be better off heading up the river and settling down somewhere." She crossed her arms. For as small and thin as she was, she still cut an intimidating figure--especially with those sometimes foggy eyes and always sharp tongue.

  
"Well, we certainly aren't going to be getting any kills in here." The trickster glanced towards Bunker where a short scoreboard tower displayed how many squads were left. "Four other teams remain, and we know where one is. If we off these guys, maybe by then the others will have killed each other."

  
"Or, they'll all be laying traps for whoever goes wandering first," Wraith shot back.

  
Elliott was about to shoot back a retort, but Gibraltar interrupted. "We can't stay in here forever. We've already looted the other buildings, and our guns are pretty flashy I'd say." He patted his shoulder with his Flatline. "Even if we don't engage, they're just going to end up running upriver to us when the Ring narrows. I say..." He paused dramatically to flash his teammates a wicked grin, "Let’s go for glory this round."

  
Elliott high fived Gibraltar while Wraith sighed. "Alright, but when we get downed by gas, don't say I didn't try and warn you." She glanced out the window towards Bunker. "At least tell me one of you has a plan...?"

 

* * *

  
"You need any help with that one?" Lifeline's cheerful voice traveled down the vacant halls like a melody.

  
"No. This was the last one." In contrast, Caustic sounded like the devil himself as he heaved another one of his traps into place. Sweat was beaded on his brow from exertion, but he never allowed his teammates to touch his equipment. 'It was a biohazard and could be set off and damn them all if detonated incorrectly'.

  
Bloodhound watched from a crouched position near the door. They were sure they hadn't seen the person who had been across the river leave their building, but they couldn't be sure with the glare of the sun beating down on the Bunker's front door. They had wanted to go and burst down the doors of the other team’s shelter and slaughter team the moment Lifeline had pinpointed their whereabouts; it had been Caustic who suggested luring them in, claiming he didn't have enough ammunition for his Wingman to be of use in an all-out assault. But if Hound could gauge the amount of ammo stored in the man's backpack, they would disagree entirely.

  
_A sadist_ , Hound thought to themselves.

  
They didn't like hiding in buildings. There were cameras watching their every move--more so than out in the middle of hills and mountains that divided up the map. And to squeeze enemies into manmade chokes--although effective, left a sour taste in the reigning Champion's mouth. They didn't get to number one on the rating board by waiting idly for prey to fall into their sights---they hunted them down like they were rats. Behind the mask and goggles was the face of someone who had wrestled with creatures across the galaxy, big and small, covered in scales, fur, and toxic quills. Some were big as buildings, others the size of their boot. Guns in the hands of men scared them very little in comparison to a dragon-like creature that could swallow them in one bite---and almost had. No, Bloodhound wasn’t afraid to be proactive in their hunts, they merely feared inactivity.

  
But there was little that could be done. This was a team sport, and as such, it meant the best way to win was to stick together. It had also been noted that those players that decided to break away from the group and go for solo glory were wildly unpopular with fans. Those watching the games wanted to see teamwork, to hear what was going on in team coms, to see the clash and balance of personalities. And that was why when outnumbered in a vote to hunker down, Bloodhound had bowed to the request.  
Both of the large metal doors on either head of the bunker were securely shut per Caustic's request. This was the scientist's favorite spot to be, and for good reason; opening either of the main doors made a loud metal bang rattle the area and would alert them immediately that they were not alone. The several rooms dotting the hallway always had loot and could be used to duck into when fighting happened. But more than that, Caustic was able to set up his gas traps and make it impossible to navigate to where his team who would set up in the center of the building. Bloodhound had worked with Caustic once before, and while they had admired his willingness to go to any lengths to secure victory, the eagerness in which he could be seen scribbling down notes in a notebook as his opponents choked on the yellow-green gas was unsettling, to say the least.

  
Sweat was beading on Bloodhound's brow underneath their mask. All of their layers plus the trapped air of the bunker made them feel like they were baking. Lifeline, who had given up on helping Caustic, motioned them over. "You don't need to guard the doors anymore. He's all done setting up. Sun’s gonna give you heat stroke."

  
Reluctantly Hound moved deeper into the Bunker, walking by several of the large (slightly hissing) tanks that his partner had set up. The three of them when into a loot room close the middle of the building and closed the door. This room gave a good sight down the one hall, and Caustic had placed so many traps that it would be difficult for anyone to come through without setting off at least one. The real danger would be the gas. At least Caustic wouldn't be affected. While they had worked with Caustic before, Hound still knew nothing about him other than his passion for science. So when the man met their arrival into the room with silence, it was not unexpected. This, however, was their first time working with Lifeline. She was cute, peppy, and optimistic--which had contrasted pretty harshly with her two teammates. But somehow it was not unwanted. Bloodhound felt drawn to the medic's smile and bid to come closer.

  
She glanced Bloodhound up and down, almost like a doting mother. "Are you doing alright? I can pop down my drone if you--"

  
"I am doing fine. I will be ready for our opponents when they show themselves," Hound assured her. After a pause, they added, "You concern is welcome, however. Thank you."

  
Lifeline beamed. "Gotta look out for my squad!" She glanced over at Caustic who was in the corner, arms crossed in what appeared to be his version of relaxation, even when his brows were still angrily knitted together. "What about you?"  
"Do not worry yourself. I'll inform you when I require your assistance--"

  
A loud bang reverberated through the bunker. Each of Hound's squadmates bolted up, yanking their guns from their holsters. The other team was making their move.

  
As they went to get into position, Caustic reached out to grab Lifeline's shoulder. From his pack, he pressed something into her hands. For an instant, Hound worried what the man was planning--did he mean to use the girl as bait? But then they realized--  
Lifeline held up a small gas mask with a smile. Caustic looked away. "The Champion over there has a mask, as do I. We do not need a medic felled by her teammate."

  
Despite the clinical cool of his words, Bloodhound could see the pink coloring the tips of his ears as Lifeline thanked him profusely and yanked the mask into place. Maybe the scientist wasn't such a mean bastard after all.

 

* * *

  
Elliott's plan had been simple. Gibraltar would open the door, poke his head in with his shield up. Wraith had created a portal just outside the door that led back to the shelters across the river--for a swift getaway if need be. And Elliott--

  
"Throwing arc star!" The trickster chucked an electrified shuriken around the corner. When he heard the crackle of detonation, he pulled out a frag and tossed it as well for good measure.

  
Elliott Witt's master scheme was to lure them out with explosives. For all of his intellect regarding tinkering around tech such as the ones that deployed his decoys, sometimes his strategies on the field weren't the most elaborate. And sometimes that paid off.

  
Silence feel after the grenade exploded. The trio paused before Gibraltar went back in, shield up, followed by Wraith, and then Elliott.

  
"Do you think they left out the back?" Wraith asked.

  
Elliott shook his head. "No, they're still here. We would have heard the door otherwise. I'm going to..."

  
They edged up a bit. Elliott pulled out his last grenade and weighted it in his hands. Last one. If they weren't in Bunker he would be screwed later since they had already picked clean the areas close by of loot. In a Hail Mary, the trickster chucked the grenade up the steps, and as it went off they stormed up. However, it became apparent very quickly that Elliott had hit something---

  
When they all began to choke.

  
Yellow-green gas was filling the area, and the culprit was easy to pinpoint--a broken gas canister lying smashed in the hallway, no doubt destroyed by the grenade.

  
"Dammit, Mirage--" Wraith cursed, hands flying up to cover her mouth. None of them had the gear to filter out the toxic fumes.

  
In retrospect, knowing that Caustic was in Bunker, it probably hadn't been the brightest idea to go throwing grenades in the narrow halls, especially when the man got most of his kills with toxic gas. Gibraltar fell back a little, hand falling away from his shield to cover his mouth. The moment his shield went down, a carefully placed shot struck him in the head, sending him tumbling back down the steps. The entire hallway lit up with gunfire, seemingly from nowhere. More of Caustic's traps that were set up around the hall ruptured as bullets punctured them, sending more gas into the air. The trio scrambled to retreat. With their air being cut off and their visibility low, their chance of survival was minimal at best.  
Gunfire blasted at them, fully lighting up Wraith and Mirage who had fallen behind Gibraltar who had ducked behind an open door to pop a shield battery. A female voice from inside the gas called out something loudly, but she sounded so muffled, Elliott couldn't figure out what it was...until a grenade landed at his feet.

  
The explosion was deafening. The blast downright killed Wraith who had been attempting to crawl into the room with Gibraltar. Elliott's shields were completely shattered--the only thing saving him from being instantly downed was the fact he had better shields then Wraith. But now he was on the ground, bleeding next to the death box of his friend. He could see Gibraltar wheezing for breath in the nearby room and attempting to block the door the best he could. But from the yellow-green fog of gas, a heavy set of footsteps stormed by Elliott. Caustic. Foolishly, Gibraltar backed away from the door in an attempt to pull his weapon. In the seconds it took him to do this, Caustic shouldered open the door and marched inside with a terrifyingly strong gait. Elliott had to look away as Caustic took to punching his teammate.

  
But there was little time to worry about his teammate. Before him was a set of glowing red eyes. The fighter was about his height, although a little bulkier. They wore several layers of similar brown tones, tall boots, knee pads, and what looked like a respirator machine of some sort on their back. Their face was obscured by a set of red goggles, and a mask that was allowing them to breathe through the gas. A hat topped them off with little tattles hanging off the edges. The realization that this was the figure from across the river hit Elliott like a ton of bricks, quickly followed by a name that had been all over the news.

  
_Bloodhound._

  
A several time Champion who was shrouded in mystery. The paparazzi thirsted after information about this elusive killer, but despite attempts to get more data on who they were, where they hailed from, and the secrets behind their technological tracking, nobody was any closer to unraveling the mystery. Those who had fought alongside Bloodhound had commented they were polite yet distant but overall was a good teammate and tactician. Elliott had never seen the person up close, and had never fought against them in a match--usually dying before he would have encountered them.

  
_This is the person that almost shot me--_

  
Knowing that the reigning Champion stood before him made dread wash over him, as well as something to blossom in the pit of his belly. Bloodhound cut an intimidating figure, and Elliott knew that with Wraith dead and Gibraltar struggling with Caustic that there was nothing he could do--only watch as Bloodhound drew a small knife from one of their many pouches. Elliot licked his lips nervously. Bloodhound was frightening and mysterious, but there was something about knowing that there was so much power and skill packed into the frame of the person before him that made Elliott almost...excited. A predator looming over its prey, while the prey waited for the deathblow.

  
Elliott at least attempted to raise his gun.

  
The champion cocked their head slightly, noticing the raised weapon, but only huffed out a small laugh that sent a delightful chill down Elliott's spine. "You are no coward," they said. Their voice was soft and accented, muffled by the mask they were wearing and giving them an almost mechanical edge to their voice.

  
But even as they spoke they descended on Elliott, knocking his gun away, and pinning him to the metal floor. They weren't overly large like Caustic, or tall like Pathfinder, but they were definitely solid under their layers and made Elliott grunt. For a brief second, Elliott's mind wondered, what would it feel like to have this talented marksman sitting astride him in a completely different way. Minus the gas, minus the knife, and minus a lot of their clothes. But their thoughts were quickly derailed by pain. Their knife found its way between his ribs in an instant, cutting deep and making Elliott scream aloud. Elliott felt the blood flooding out of the wound in his chest, soaking the ground around him. He was only vaguely able to tell that his gun was being picked up and pressed to his chest. By the sounds of it, Gibraltar was losing his struggle with Caustic, and there was Lifeline, coming in from behind with her medical drone for her team. Was Wraith watching him? She would probably have plenty to say later about his choice to storm Bunker.

  
As the darkness started crawling in, the last thing he saw was those red goggles staring down at him, and feeling his limp arms being moved to hold onto his gun. "You are no coward. Remember that."

 

* * *

  
Elliott woke up in a bed in the Competitor's quarters of the arena sometime later. The rooms were all identical--all 60 of them, containing a small single bed covered with white linen, a nightstand with some sort of food item on it and a bottle of water, and a large flat screen on the wall that showed the current game. As Elliott was awakening, the TV before him showed the cameras following Caustic, Bloodhound, and Lifeline as they tracked up river towards Artillery. The Ring was at their heels, forcing them closer and closer to what appeared to be the last team.

  
He was thankful that not too much of the pain from the game bled over to after the competitor woke up. Sometimes there were minor headaches, phantom pains, and touches, but that "death" was not permanent. Every hopeful Champion got a rundown course before their first game on how the Game Masters did it, but it wasn't something important in Elliott's mind. What was important was the loot--the guns, the ammo, the armor--and who did he have to shoot to win.

  
The trickster watched the camera track Bloodhound, watched as they strode with confidence beside their team, Triple Take in hand. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the phantom weight of Bloodhound hovering over him, and still hear their amused chuckle. Nobody had ever elicited that sort of reaction from him before--not in the field of battle at least. Sure he had a reputation as a smooth-talking playboy. He knew how to pick up men and women alike, and could do it with ease. For a while, there had hardly been a night where his bed was empty. But after so many hookups, one night stands, and awkward next day encounters, that scene had lost a lot of its glamor for the aspiring Apex Champion. He never expected to be thrilled to have another competitor outplay him and kill him. And he couldn't even see what they looked like. Who were they underneath all that tracking gear? And how were they so talented?

  
But even if the hunt had been exciting, losing always felt bad, no matter if he was first blood or in second place (although first blood always left the ugliest taste in his mouth). He knew he had fans--not exactly a cult following, but enough that vendors sold his goggles and his scarf in the markets. As Elliott watched the final two teams come in contact with each other on the screen and the first bullets fly, he had to wonder what he looked like to everyone watching. There were some days he didn't care--he is who he is and nobody would change that--while others he wanted to know if people were still cheering his name. His mother watching all the way in Angel City...was she proud of that headshot? His brothers, wherever they were, were they watching him and proud? Or would they wonder why he was wasting his time playing pretend soldier when there were places and people to fight for in the Frontier?

  
Watching Bloodhound--who the camera mostly seemed to follow--was an experience. They never seemed to tire--able to slide down hills on their knees and duck behind cover at a moment’s notice. Their aim was amazing, and that was shown when they were able to nearly down one of the opposing group member with a headshot from down range. Whoever they were, they had stamina in spades and deadly accuracy. Elliott could only imagine what it would be like to fight on their team. Above him in the stadium seating where hundreds of civilians gathered to watch the Apex Games on the big screen, a cheer erupted as Bloodhound took down an enemy with an impressive scoped shot; Elliott could actually feel the vibrations of their thunderous applause and the stomping of their feet as they chanted Bloodhound's name. What it must be like to be that good...to have a following chanting your name. Whereas Mirage had a certain following, there was something magnetic about Bloodhound and the caliber in which they played the game. People were drawn to their skill and to the mystery surrounding their identity. This 'Bloodhound' had cropped up in the arena overnight and had taken win after win, blazing through the tournaments held every week. Everyone wanted to know who they were--including Elliott. Were they from a Frontier planet, or were they from Earth like some speculated? How were they so good? Did they come from a military background? Were they a pilot? Then there were their tracking abilities. How did they do that? Some gossiped that the Champion was part bat and used echolocation to guide themselves around. Whatever the case, not a game went by where 'Bloodhound' wasn't a popular name on everyone's tongue.

  
And oh how Elliott now wished it was more than just his name on their tongue.

 

The final hit came as Hound shot the last opponent, taking them to their knees---and Lifeline came in and whacked them over the head with a drumstick. A roar of laughter rippled through the room above Elliott at the blank mask stare that Bloodhound gave Lifeline--who just seemed excited to have been there, not realizing she stole the kill. Lifeline began bouncing up and down cheering, and once close enough threw her arms around Caustic and Bloodhound.

  
Elliott was just beginning to shift off the bed to head out to where the camera crews would be interviewing the competitors when he heard the door creak open and a familiar face pop in. The smell of caramel filled the room as the door shut behind his visitor.

 

"You're a dumb ass."

  
The trickster let out a laugh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah well, sometimes even I make mistakes."

  
Her glare could have curled wallpaper. And yet she came to stand in front of him and offered him a cup full of hot coffee, piled high with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel to match her own. Out of the arena, Wraith might have actually passed as a normal civilian. She kept her long black hair up in that familiar top bun, but her eyes were consistently a light blue, and she ditched her tighter fit black and purple jumpsuit for black leggings and a weathered sweater of dark purple. She also put all of her piercings back in to compliment the one stud on the side of her nose. All in all, she looked normal enough--one would never guess all the dark things she had been through or what she was capable of in the arena.

  
"Are you feeling alright?" she finally asked with a sip of coffee. She blew on it a couple of times, peering over the rim of her throw-away cup. "That was pretty brutal in Bunker."

  
Those words alone made him feel the ghostly kiss of the steel shoving between his ribs. He found himself taking a gulp of hot coffee just to get rid of the sensation. "Yeah, I didn't really expect so much..."

  
"Gas?" Wraith decided to sit beside him on the bed. Her eyes wandered to the screen where Bloodhound's squad was boarding a shuttle to come back to base for interviews. The friends watched in mutual silence as the camera drones skirted around the victorious team, trying to get some good glimpses at their happy faces. The only one outwardly excited was Lifeline--Caustic and Bloodhound's faces were obscured by their masks. "That one...they're something else."

  
Mirage watched as the trio climbed into the transport and the camera came back to the analyzers who were now going through clips of some of their favorite plays during the game—which only lasted thirty minutes. The games always felt so much longer than they actually were. So much longer. "Yeah...Something else." He glanced over at his partner. "Have you ever worked with them?"

  
"Who? Bloodhound?" When Elliott nodded, Wraith said, "Once. They were very professional. Their shot calling was always quick and to the point. I enjoyed working with them."

  
If Wraith held a high opinion of them, then Elliott just had to meet them. He wanted to get to know them, or at the very least suggest an alliance in a future fight. But just thinking of those electrifying it had been to be so close to the Champion earlier…

  
A smile tipped his lips upwards, and the moment Wraith saw it she groaned. "I know that look. Don't."

  
"I don't know what you're talking about," he hummed innocently. "Now, if you'll excuse me--I have a puppy dog to talk to~"

 

* * *

  
Bloodhound hated the paparazzi. All of the lights were too hot--practically baking them under all of their gear, the cameras got too close--always looking for an angle they might glimpse under their mask, and the questions! They didn't want to talk about themselves. There was a reason they hid their face--to remain anonymous, to be able to live a peaceful life, unbothered by the masses outside of the Apex scene. And some of the questions got downright rude and intrusive. But Bloodhound knew this was part of the deal when they entered as a hopeful Legend in the Apex arena. The victorious squad was required to meet with the press afterward for interviews and some pictures; teams that placed lower than first might be picked on for an interview if caught by a journalist in the halls, but they were not required to speak. It was always better however to stop and give some sort of word, or at least a picture opportunity, especially with civilians. Popularity was half of the paycheck it would seem.

  
So Bloodhound stood for the better part of fifteen minutes, gritting their teeth beneath their mask, biding their time until the press was shooed off. Ajay, with her bright 'people person' attitude, did most of the talking, while Bloodhound and Alexander stood back, arms folded across their chests. If Bloodhound didn't like the press, Alexander Nox despised them. He rarely ever gave interviews--only when forced to when he was in a winning squad. The man didn't care if the public liked him or hated him. His purpose was to further his scientific research, specifically on his noxious gas, and that was all that mattered. Bloodhound could almost respect him for that...if it wasn't such a cruel and sinister reason. Ajay seemed not to mind the cameras, instead just eager to talk about helping her squad mates, and typically throwing out a good word to help bring awareness to a program somewhere in the galaxy that was helping people.

  
When the Apex Battle Masters finally called for the paparazzi to dissipate, Bloodhound gave a sigh of relief. Not that they were physically tired, but dealing with large crowds of people always left them weary.

  
_Time to tend to the birds._

  
From the interview lobby, they would have to navigate down one of the corridors that ran around the bottom floor of the arena. It was a place where the staff could move freely without having to squeeze between civilians or vendors that occupied an identical hall on the other side of the viewing arena. Digital banners hung down the wall over top of large water jug stations, displaying pictures of the winning team as well as their kill count and other stats. Bloodhound stopped just under one of the signs and glanced over their stats. They were shown as having had a staggering 11 kills. Neither Lifeline nor Caustic had gotten more than 5.

  
"Pretty impressive out there today," came a voice from the side.

  
The voice was handsome and flirty, and when Bloodhound turned to look they were surprised to find a familiar face with dark chocolate colored eyes staring back at them. They weren't too much taller than Bloodhound, although maybe their shoulders were a bit broader. The sides of their head were nicely shaven while the top was a small cascade of dark brown waves that were kept out of their face by a pair of goggles. An equally dark beard framed their sturdy looking jaw that Bloodhound almost found themselves envious of. Overall they were average for an athlete from the neck down--equal parts skinny as they were muscular, a blend to make them look fleshed out in their-------

  
_Are those bananas?_

  
The rather tight suit that they had fitted to their body appeared to be dark green, possibly black, with yellow bananas covering the fabric. He had a checkered scarf around his neck, as well as some pouches and pockets strapped to him. Aside from his questionable fabric design choices, the only other thing of interest on the man were the protruding discs that covered his arms.

  
"You...You are the man from Bunker." Bloodhound had never asked his name, and frankly hadn't even thought of him since they downed him amongst the gas. His squad had not been memorable in their fight, nor in their death. Although Bloodhound did feel the need to say, "I apologize. Caustic's gas is...painful."

  
The man laughed a little nervously and threaded a hand through his hair. "It's not your fault. A game is a game. All's fair. And honestly, your blade hurt a lot more."

  
Well, at least he seemed amiable. Hound kept a stiff stance, arms crossed. They couldn't get a good read on this man. Not too often did they have challengers they personally downed approach them after the match, and when they had, it had never been for pleasant reasons. In contrast, aside from the need to mess with his hair and shift on his feet, the other Legend seemed quite at ease. Bloodhound watched as those dark eyes when from their mask, down their body to their boots, and then slowly crept up again.

  
That smirk of a smile stayed in place as the man extended his hand. "Name's Elliott Witt," he said. "Mirage on the field."

  
Bloodhound took the man's hand with their own firm grip and gave him a shake. "You may call me Bloodhound."

  
Elliott leaned against the wall. "Oh, I know who you are. I figured it out once I woke up. You're a cel--cele--you're really famous around here. You've been winning left and right."

  
"My reputation precedes me I suppose." In all honesty, Bloodhound didn't know what to say. What do you say to a man who you stabbed to death on the field?

  
Luckily Elliott seemed comfortable filling the silence between them. "You were pretty skilled out there today." The man paused before breaking into a smile. "I wouldn't mind being on your team next time. A little less stabby-stabby for me, and I'm sure I could bring something to the table."

  
Bloodhound, although not a people person, could pick up on body language and tones rather quickly--it had kept them from being killed on more than one occasion from other hunters. And in that moment they heard the shift in Elliott's tone from conversationally friendly to something more.

  
_Is he...trying to butter me up?_

  
Elliott pressed on when Bloodhound didn't immediately shut him down. "I know you don't have a concrete team you run with. But I would love to be able to work with someone as talented as you." The other Legend was all dashing smiles and open gestures of his hands between them. "I usually tend to stick with Wraith, but I know she wouldn't have a problem working with you--she has before. She com--compl---she had a lot of good things to say about you!" And just as Bloodhound was trying to ponder over the meaning of the stutter (was he nervous?), the charming smile and friendly tone took on something lower and sultrier. "Plus, I bet you're really pretty under that mask. I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better in other ways."

  
The hunter stared at the man in disbelief. _He's flirting_. Out of everyone Elliott Witt could have taken a liking to, he had chosen the deadliest of the bunch, someone who had almost sniped him in the head...someone who had stabbed him and dashed his hopes of winning the game. Instead of feeling insulted, or getting embarrassed, the thought that this stranger--whom he had stabbed only maybe an hour before--was flirting with them amused the hunter to no ends. Nobody flirted with Bloodhound; everything was either business deals or at the business end of a gun.

  
Bloodhound cocked their head to the side, causing the tassels on their hat piece to jingle. "Oh? You want to get to know me?" Plenty of people had attempted to get close to them over the years in an attempt to undo them and uncover what they were like. And none ever came close. Bloodhound was an island fortress, stoic and didn’t like people knowing what was going on beneath their surface. But they had to admit, Elliott Witt was a looker, and the way he talked was charming to say the least.

  
The facade of merely being a fan of sorts faded away. Elliott leaned into Bloodhound's space a little, one hand on his hip, and a playful gleam in his dark eyes. "I do, I do," he hummed. "I'm sure we have a lot we could talk about. We're both Legends, we both have some pretty suped up tech--if your tracking is anything to go off of." Mirage's brow quirked up a little with a suggestive wiggle as he purred, "And y'kno, if we run out of things to talk about, I'm sure there are other activities we could par--per--we could do together."

  
The conversation could have ended there. Bloodhound had never been in a relationship and had not been seeking out someone to have relations with. It would be simple to just chuckle at the man's antics and leave, after all, they had their birds to feed and dinner to make. And for by the AllFather the man was wearing bananas! On his Legend gear!

  
But there was something in the man's posture and just something about that twinkle in his eye that made Bloodhound stay. "Oh? And pray tell, what would these 'activities' be?"

  
What they didn't expect was for a faint pink blush to bloom across the other Legend's face, coloring across the bridge of their nose. Elliott ran a hand through his hair again before regaining his composure. The smile snapped back into place, as charming as the devil. "I could show you around town. Get us some tickets for a show, go dancing---I wouldn't even be opposed to letting you come over for wine, pork chops and, hm, a show."

  
Bloodhound chuckled. The small noise immediately drew a more intense gaze from Elliott, who seemed to be desperately trying to get a read on them despite their mask. "I do not have a need for a steady team. I am fine floating as I am." They gestured behind them at the screen which was currently displaying their current standings with their "kills to date", which was near twice the second place Legend. "I think I am doing fine as I am."

  
Elliott's smile slipped, and it was almost painful to watch--as if someone took a bone from a dog. But, to his credit, he forged on. "Your standings won't be affected, promise. Wraith and I usually place top ten, and with you there--"

  
"Are you suggesting that my being there will carry you to victory?" Elliott wouldn't have been the first to ask for an alliance for such a reason.

  
Elliott's mouth snapped shut. Between his brows creased with concentration for a long moment, but before long that smile came back, brimming with confidence. And Bloodhound had to admit...the trickster’s confidence was attractive.

  
The other Legend pressed a little closer, daringly close--closer than anyone had ever had the balls to be to Bloodhound unless they were giving them medical aide on the field. "If you're worried about me 'using' you for a win, how about I prove myself?"  
Bloodhound, who had been turned away from Elliott a little to gesture at the scoreboard, turned back slightly. They were pretty much eye to eye height wise--maybe a centimeter more in Elliott's favor. Up close Bloodhound could smell the masculine spice of the other Legend's cologne and the smell of caramel on his breath. Even a couple of pale scars that marred his face became more apparent.

  
"Prove yourself?" Bloodhound parroted back in a surprisingly interested voice. Where was this all coming from? They should have shut him down by now, but instead, they seemed to only be fanning his determination. Now Elliott was close to the point he was almost touching their shoulders but kept a safe distance--like a smart boy.

  
Elliott's eyes practically glittered. "I'll prove myself to you. I'll show you that I can win a match with my team without you. Then you'll know I'm capable and just think to yourself 'wow, what we could accom...accomp...what we could get done together'!" As if only just realizing how close they were, Elliott took a step back to lean against the wall. "What do you say? I take the win and then I'll take you out for dinner."

  
Unknown to most was that Bloodhound loved games. Video games and board games sure, but a game of cat and mouse was a sure fire way to hold their attention. In life, they could hardly think of anything more thrilling than stalking one's prey, and that moment right before the final kill. Ah, that caused a flood of heat through their veins. This was more of the same, was it not? Bloodhound, despite some interest that was beginning to manifest, was unwilling to lay themselves out for just anybody. And in a small sadistic way, they wanted to see just how far Mirage would push himself on the field to gain Bloodhound's approval.

  
Boldly and quite out of character, Bloodhound chuckled and ducked into Elliott's space, only to tap the end of his nose with their gloved finger. "A shame you'll be dining by yourself."

  
They watched a warm flush blossom over Elliott’s checks and dust across his nose as they pulled away. Without waiting for a reply, they made their way towards the exit, a smirk hiding just underneath the surface of their mask. At the moment they had no opinion on what outcome they wished for. If Mirage was serious about winning that date, then at least the competition during the Apex games would be more interesting. And then there was the date itself to think about, and then some. Hadn't Elliott teased about 'other activities'? Bloodhound couldn't help but subconsciously lick their lips as they walked away. They might not have been in the market looking for someone to spend a night with, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, they weren’t about to squash the chance.

  
Bloodhound completely missed the trickster Legend creating a decoy just so he would have someone to fist bump. 


	2. Elliott Needs a Wingman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you all for the kudos on the previous chapter, and kind messages to my twitter. From going from the Overwatch fandom's biggest ship to this I was worried that there wouldn't be anyone into these two honestly lol. I'm glad to see I was wrong. 
> 
> Follow me here: https://twitter.com/DarkModeTea

Wraith hadn't heard from Elliott after he left her, and she couldn't help but worry when she woke up the next morning and didn't have any texts from him waiting on her cell. Elliott was a charmer, to say the least--with his playful attitude, silver tongue, and smoldering dark eyes, but what if he said the wrong thing? Bloodhound was the reigning champion for a reason. Never once had Bloodhound hesitated on a kill, and she knew from working with them that they were always steps ahead of their prey. What if they hadn't taken kindly to Elliott and his lighthearted flirting?

  
With that in mind, she left her apartment, hit up a local burger joint for an order of burgers and fries, and headed over to Elliott's place.

  
There were hundreds of people that were considered Legends--people who fought on King's Canyon Island and received some sort of paycheck from Kuben Blisk's Game Masters. Of those hundreds, the top thirty Legends also got special treatment and were given housing in a section of the city close to the arena. The higher the person's ranking, the better the apartment. Rankings were evaluated yearly, and there was typically some changing around of where people were living every now and again; sometimes a newcomer would push through the ranks and dislodge several people at once (like Bloodhound had), but usually it was just those numbered from twenty-five to thirty that typically had to sweat it out. Those legends whose ranking dropped below thirty had to find housing elsewhere, and worse, pay for it all out of pocket. The games were extremely lucrative, with millions being brought in revenue-wise yearly. The top thirty legends helped draw in the crowds with their skill and charm and were awarded free living. Of course, all other necessities had to be bought with their paychecks, but nobody in the top thirty had a problem with that. Most however still did side jobs on days where they weren't participating in the blood sport. The section of town that housed the top thirty had more security and it was fairly private, secured by a privacy wall and some vegetation. The downside, however, was that the legends had to leave their safety bubble to get necessities, and that was when the paparazzi typically got their pictures and such.

  
Wraith managed to get from the market area into the living quarters sector without anyone so much as batting an eye. She was number eight in the ranking, so she had a decent following, and people definitely knew her, but she put off all the right vibes that she was not to be messed with by anyone holding a camera or microphone. Clad in gray rolled up sweatpants, a shredded purple tee, and some sneakers, she made her way up the black metal stairs that led to the second level of the brick complex Elliott lived in. Mirage held the number eleven spot, and had for some time, much to his irritation. But hey, his apartment wasn't anything to scoff at. It was a cozy two level building with a flat roof. Trees dotted the property, and on the one side, there was a space for gardening vegetables. Mirage's bedroom window overlooked another garden that had been planted by a former resident, consisting entirely of red roses. As Wraith entered the building and came up the steps she could hear muffled Spanish singing from a blaring radio--no doubt coming from the half-open door to Octavio's apartment, which was right next to Mirage's. With greasy paper bags in her arms, she used the heel of her sneaker to bang on the door. Only for it to creak open.

  
She nudged the door open with her elbow and poked her head in. "El? You home?"

  
Elliott's apartment wasn't big by any means. Upon entering from the hall, there was a wall directly in front of the visitor, on which were various hooks for coats, bags, keys, the works, and a weathered "welcome" mat that was lined with boots and shoes. To the right the apartment opened up to a large, fat "L" shaped room. The short end contained two sofas--one a loveseat, the other a bit longer--a large TV that was mounted on the wall, and bookcases that held an array of movie disks and video games (along with systems for them that had long since been used). The walls were dotted with pictures of Elliott and his family and some other photographs that had been taken by one of his brothers who had once aspired to be a photographer. A coffee table sat between the sofas and the TV and was cluttered with Playboy magazines and soda cans. The longer part of the "L" shape had a dining table with a couple of miss-matched chairs. A curio cabinet sat along the one side of the wall, but whereas other would display their china and tea set, Elliott, ever the humorous one, had paper plates on display--although, to his credit, they at least had funky designs on them. The kitchen was smaller than the TV area and lay at the corner where the lounge and the dining area was. The countertops were made of fake granite, and the cabinets were a shiny dark wood with painted gold knobs. A gas stovetop and oven sat in the corner, but other than a tall rack that displayed beautiful alcohol bottles, the kitchen was rather unremarkable. Beyond the dining area was a small bathroom, as well as Elliott's room. Wraith hadn't been in his room in some time but could tell he wasn't in there as his door was wide open and the light was out.

  
Light, however, was spilling out from the room on the other side of the lounge. It was supposed to have been a spare bedroom, but Elliott had converted it to his workroom. Inside, the walls showed an array of pin-up pictures alongside article clippings about his standing in the games. There were a couple of wooden stools that were up against the wall, but for the most part, it was only spare parts and tools in large heavy chests. A large metal table took up the center of the room, several interconnected holodisks (the things that make up the hologear that lines his arms in the arena) strewn across it. He had been bitching for months that his experimental upgrade was causing all the disks to light up when not in use---something that could kill him on the battlefield, and make it hard for his teammates to tell what he was doing. A music player sat at one end of the table, playing something that reminded Wraith of 8-bit music turned electronic dance. And perched on a stool, hunched over a holopad at this table was where she found Elliott. He looked worse for wear, that was certain. Although his hair was typically rather "free", it looked downright unruly, and as she watched him thread his fingers through it in quick succession, she figured out why. He was wearing a dirtied-up white shirt and torn up jeans--a sign he probably hadn't left the apartment since getting home the day before. But at least he looked alive, and there were no visible marks on his face from being slapped or punched.

  
"Hey, dumbass!" she barked out. Wraith dissolved into laughter as she saw Elliott nearly jump out of his skin and almost fall off the back of his chair.

  
"Holy shit---don't---" Elliott was gripping his chest, feigning serious alarm. "Ever heard of knocking--"

  
Wraith scowled. "I _did_ knock. But your door was unlocked." She shrugged her arms, drawing his attention to the takeout bags. And immediately she heard his stomach growl. "I figured I would come to see how you faired with your crush since you didn't have the courtesy to text me, but if you want me to leave..."

  
Elliott ran his hands through his hair. "No, no, no. Food is good, just--put it on the kitchen table--"

  
The two friends wandered out to the kitchen where Wraith divided their food. Elliott was a sucker for cheeseburgers--not particularly just from one burger place, but just cheese melted over a beef patty. Everything, except for tomatoes. And the large fry sprinkled with pepper and salt had the trickster eagerly taking a seat. Soon the smell of food was filling the apartment. It was odd for Wraith to see him so completely frazzled. Even if he was known to have a stutter, the man was hardly ever lost for words. Seeing him sitting there fidgeting trying to get a ketchup packet open was definitely a first. "Alright, spit it out Witt. What happened?"

  
The trickster legend groaned. "I might have bitten off more than I can chew, Wraith." Ironically he decided then to start munching on their burger. "I kind of---uh--told them I was interested---"

  
Wraith rolled her eyes. Of course. Of course, Elliott had. He always seemed to have a knack for picking out people who could kick his ass into orbit. _He's probably into it_ , she found herself thinking.

  
What she hadn't expected was for her friend to look so flustered. Even his cheeks were flushed. "And they didn't turn me down per say. They just uh, said they would go to dinner with me if I became champion." The deadpan stare wasn't what Elliott had hoped for, but he knew it was more than he deserved. He dropped his burger back down onto the wrapper. "Ahhh, I know I know it was stupid!"

  
Wraith slowly plucked at her fries as they talked. "You do realize that means that you have to beat them...right?" She dipped another salty potato delicacy in ketchup and munched on it. "Like...they haven't actually lost since they started playing."

  
Elliott whined aloud. "I know. They probably fuckin' laughed themselves all the way home about it," he groaned. He motioned at the holopad he had brought with him to the table from the other room. Its screen displayed the masked figured known as Bloodhound, along with their stats. Age, race, sex, even their name was all listed as question marks; the only data listed was their total number of Apex wins, which was double the amount of the second place victor. The only other tidbit that was noted was, as fitting the reigning champion, they lived in the best housing available for legends--a mansion, separated from the other competitors. "I was trying to see if I could find anything about them...anything that might put me at an advantage for getting a win over them. But nobody knows anything. They're an enig...enig...a mystery. And they don't seem to lack in one area of combat over another."

  
Wraith nodded. "I can attest to that. When I fought alongside them, they seemed just as comfortable sniping at a distance as they did with a shotgun up close. You won't get a tactical advantage just by choosing a particular gun. Your shots are just going to have to be better. Plain and simple."

  
The trickster ran a hand over his goatee before going back to munching on his burger. His dark eyes reflected how troubled he was over a solution. And Elliott didn't look worried often--even in the heat of battle. They lapsed into silence. Elliott was still trying to patch together a plan of attack, and Wraith was trying to remember anything she had learned of importance about Bloodhound when she had been on their team.

  
"But you haven't bitched out right?" Her friend glanced up over his food at her. "It's a team game. That means you'll have me helping your sorry ass."

  
At least that earned a chuckle from him. "I guess you're right."

  
She smirked. "I've actually fought alongside them before---I know some of their tricks. I'm sure we can get a one up on them...somehow."

  
The trickster picked up a pickle that had fallen out of his burger and shoved it into his mouth. "Ok, ok, so I have you on board, but if we even have a chance we need a pers...pur....we need a solid team. Who---"

  
At that moment, the door to Elliott's apartment banged open, the knob damn near slamming into the wall. In the doorway, in nothing but a pair of bright orange boxers was Octavio. His normally slicked back black and green hair was sticking out at odd angles as if someone had been pulling it, and rings of bite marks littered his neck and chest. Octavio, despite being a newcomer to the arena, had bonded with Elliott nearly instantly. Both had a similar chaotic and flirty nature that made them drawn to one another. And their playboy attitudes allowed for a lot of wingman action---at least for Octavio.

  
"Oye, Hermano, you got any rubbers laying around? I got a friend over and--" The daredevil legend just paused long enough to realize Mirage had company...and both were staring at him with unreadable expressions. "What?"

 

* * *

  
Over twenty-four hours had passed since Bloodhound had met the silver-tongued trickster known as Mirage, and still, the man was stuck in their head like a repeating record. Night had fallen and Bloodhound had decidedly stayed home for the night. They had a match tomorrow and in all honesty, they were more eager for this match than any other.

  
_Just to see what he'll do to win._

  
Bloodhound sat on their sofa, an afghan thrown over their bare legs as they scrolled through various files they had managed to find on one 'Elliott Witt'. The youngest of four--all boys. Raised by a single mother after his father went off and died in the war. All his grade records from schools showed he had potential if only he stopped goofing around. They continued to sip on red wine in the semi-dark as they read, with only the glow of their holopad and the TV illuminating the room. The goofing off certainly hadn't changed.

  
_He certainly liked getting his ass kicked_. They thought smugly with another sip. Arthur, who was perched on the back of the sofa, rustled their wings as if to agree.

  
Other than mentions of a bar job and a mother that helped developed his decoy technology, there was nothing stand out in Elliott Witt's character file or public records. And yet Bloodhound felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Was it just his personality? The smooth talking and full-of-himself way he presented himself? But even that couldn't be it, because the moment Bloodhound allowed his flirting, he seemed thrown off kilter. Maybe it was that charming smile....those soft chocolate eyes.

  
In the darkness of their apartment, Bloodhound allowed themselves to relax. There was no camera to catch the look on their face as they flipped through tabloid pictures of Mirage wielding an M600 in the heat of battle, or the spark the ignited in their eyes as they looked at shots of him signing autographs for a kid after a game concluded. There were no paparazzi watching as the afghan was pushed away slightly, and a hand slipped down beyond the elastic of their sweat pants. Nobody could see the mystery of the seemingly immortal Bloodhound fade away to something decidedly more...human.

  
Regardless of what attracted Bloodhound's attention, the interest was there. And Bloodhound was eager to start the hunt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, my favorite part about this chapter was writing Octane. He's going to be fun to include. Haha


	3. Morning Banana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll upload a chapter at a normal time, like a normal person. Instead, it's 1 am here and I'm tired. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone, who's been sending me kudos and sweet words about this fic. I honestly didn't think many people would read it just based on the fact there doesn't seem to be a big shippy following in the Apex community. Unless I'm just looking in all the wrong places of course. 
> 
> This chapter was particularly fun to write, and I'm sure you'll realize why soon enough.

 Mirage's pulse was thundering in his ears--zipping, like lightning through the highway of veins running from head to toe. A loud boom rattled the canyon with the echo of thunder, and rain pelted the trickster as he made haste. The sky was almost black with how dark the clouds were, and the curtain of rain made seeing difficult. The mud was slippery underfoot as he slid on the sides of his feet down the steep hill, and more than once he stumbled and dirtied his knees flopping against the grass. But to stop moving was a death sentence. The ring was a ways away but--

  
A gunshot rang out and Mirage felt the heat on the tip of his right ear.

  
               "Holy shit---"

  
Blood ran down their neck from where a well aimed shot from a Triple Take nearly took his whole ear off.

  
Lingering in Hydro Dam had been a mistake; there had been too many people that landed and not enough loot to go around. Hound and their squad had landed right on Mirage's heels, and somehow the bastard had managed to get their hands on a Triple Take--with a sniper scope. It was all he could do but curse his luck as he grabbed a Mozambique and bolted from the area. He hadn't even managed to get armor--just the nearly useless shotgun and a couple of shells. His teammates--nameless faces that he'd been forced to team up with--had both went down with angry pings of 'enemy here' as Mirage had desperately looked for loot. All too soon their banners had gone dark and Mirage had been forced from Hydro Dam with gunfire at his heels. Bridges was just down the hill but---Another shot clipped his side. He may have cried out in pain, but he was so focused on rushing for cover that he hardly noticed. He sent out a decoy to another building nearby, and thankfully the brainless cluster of light managed to make it look like they went inside the door. Meanwhile, he ducked behind a half wall in another open building. His lungs burned when he finally ducked into cover. Rain droplets spilled off with him along with blood from his ear and side, leaving a trail as he maneuvered further into the space. It hung over the edge of the cliff with a zip line connecting to the ground below--something Mirage hoped would aide in his escape when his pursuer caught up with him. He found himself tucked back in the corner of the building, behind a tall crate, panting as water from his hair dripped down into his face.

  
If he closed his eyes he could hear the squish of mud underneath a pair of thick boots as the hunter arrived at his location. The click of a gun reloading. A distant crack of splintering wood as a door was kicked in. Mirage heard a jingle of a familiar laugh--his own, though a bit more electronic. "You've been--" Then the metallic bang of a gunshot and a choked noise. Blue light zipped up his arm through the disks as his decoy was destroyed.

  
In the corner, Mirage looked down at the Mozambique in his hands. Bangalore's words rang out in his head, " _You'd be better off punching than using that thing_." The Mozambique wasn't known for its damage output, but it was all he had been able to find! The small shotgun wasn't going to save him--not from this hunter.

  
Mirage had no line of sight to either the zip line nor the ground level entrance. He didn't need it. He could hear the rain beating down on the roof, the claps of thunder overhead, and the clink and swish of the zip line gears pulling someone up the yellow length of rope. The ominous creak of weight moving on the wooden floor planks rang out like a death tolling bell.  

  
Mirage tipped his head back against the box behind him. This was it.

  
The noise of boots stopped. Dread coiled in Mirage's belly.

  
               "Open your eyes."

  
Obediently, Mirage opened his eyes for the owner of that accented voice. A flash of lightning went off, half illuminating the terrifying figure that was standing in front of him. Their goggles glowed an unearthly red, and he could see steam rolling out from under their mask--their very breathing hotter than the wet air. They truly looked a demon. And something about them looming over him in his feeble state sent a chill down his back.

  
He could hear the smirk that must have been alive and well under their mask.

  
               "Excited to see me, Elliott?"

  
The meaning of the words sunk in when their boot reached out and tapped the growing interest between his legs. Mirage gave a grunt of alarm that dissolved into a chipped moan as Bloodhound rubbed a bit more. It was impossible to hide--not with his suit as tight as it was. The bulge looked lewd when pressed against by the taunt leather of Bloodhound's boot.

  
Bloodhound stared down at them through red tinted goggles. "You are thrilled by the hunt...same as I." Again a shiver racked through Mirage at the tone. Bloodhound had the upper hand, especially with the decked out Triple Take at easy drawing range. One bullet this close would have Mirage's brain splattered across the box behind him. He watched as the tracker slowly shifted down to crouching, so they were face to face.

  
But instead of his mind trying to hatch a plan on how to blast their mask with a Mozambique, his dick was thinking about getting pushed to the floor and about getting that friction back--no matter how humiliating it was. Mirage licked his lips nervously. Being unable to read Bloodhound's expression made this difficult but-- "Looks like you've found me," he joked nervously. "N-N-Now what?"

  
The dark chuckle made Mirage's mouth pop open and his hips twitch up just a little. A gloved hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. Panic rippled through him at the same time as a flush of arousal, a flush that turned into an inferno when he was roughly sent onto his back. With graceful movements, Bloodhound held Mirage down with one hand while the other hand grabbed the metal clasp of his belt. He could feel his entire face go red.

  
               "Holy--"

  
His curse was cut off as the hand on his belt moved up towards their mask. In a fluid movement, they pushed it up---but it was too dark to see--

  
               "Elliott--"

  
Mirage tried to lean up, to chase after lips---

  
               "Elliott!"

  
Bang.  
Bang.   
Bang.

  
               "Dumbass, don't make me come in there--"

  
With a groan, Elliott opened his eyes. His room was dark--abnormally dark. The rain was beating against the windows that led to his little bedroom balcony, and beyond was nothing but dark gray skies. In the distance, he could hear Wraith still pounding on his door, with someone trying to pacify her in what sounded like Spanish.

  
Elliot sat up slowly. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" he barked back before running a hand through his tangled locks. A dream. It had been a god damn dream. "Fuck--" He didn't need to move the sheets to know why his boxers felt too tight for comfort. The aspiring champion ran a hand through his tangled curls. What the hell had that dream been about?

  
_Don't kid yourself Witt. You know why you dreamt it._

  
He could practically feel the rain on his skin, the pounding of his heart in his rib cage, the heat of a body pressing over him. A tingle went down his spine just thinking of that gloved hand coming up and pushing their mask up. What did they look like? His brain had tried to supply him a picture and couldn't. He hadn't even been able to see what their lips looked like, but god did he want to know. Were they dry? soft? Scarred? Perfect? Pierced? And the rest of their face...What color were their eyes? Their hair? He needed to know. Somehow that brief run-in with Bloodhound in the arena had started growing into something more entirely, blossoming into curiosity, and a need. He wanted to know them. With a groan, he threw back the covers and went to get ready to leave--no use making Wraith grumpier than she already was.

 

* * *

  
                _"Gooooood Morning folks! Are you ready for another bright sunny day of fighting in King's Canyon!?"_

  
The din of the crowd packed into the Apex viewing arena never ceased to amaze Hound. All the legends meet at the stadium before matches for prep, and the sound of the massive crowd sitting in the bleachers just above the tunnels and halls that the staff and legends use always had different effects on people. For Hound it was a war cry.

  
Bloodhound had their reasons certainly for joining the blood sport--and they would be lying if money didn't factor in. But there was just something about the roar of the crowd that harkened back to gladiators of a long forgotten time, vying for the support of the crowd and for the favor of their emperor. The Apex games were a way for the modern warrior to get the glory and fame they needed in their flaming heart. Bloodhound was hardly any different. They had tracking and hunting skills that were rivaled by none other in the Frontier. They had been from planet to planet with contracts to eliminate beasts large and small, dangerous and docile, common pests and rare finds. But there was something dark, forbidden, and primal about hunting other people. People were capable of higher thinking and often proved to be more elusive than a basic animal. And that added challenge of having to hunt for a quarry that was actively hiding was thrilling. Their mask was able to conceal the glee that shimmered in their eyes at the moment when they were finally able to bring down their prey. Of course, Bloodhound wouldn't do it if people were actually getting hurt--they weren't a monster. But knowing that it was just a game and that they could hunt down the most lethal lifeform in the universe...it was thrilling. There was a method to their hunt that brought them peace like none other---a calm in the storm. For while their heart and lungs burned with running, jumping, and gunning down their prey, their mind calm as could be. They knew their destiny was eventual death-- like all those with life were destined to under the All Father's design...but until the day the All Father called them home...they were unstoppable.

  
It was the morning of the next match, and Bloodhound was almost eager to begin. They stood off to the side near the walls as the other combatants joined the lobby. For this match, Bangalore and Lifeline had agreed to match with them, and they stood nearby but were obviously too engaged with their conversation to include anyone else. It was in the moments as the lobby queued and everyone was making teams that Bloodhound spotted a bright yellow jumper enter the space across the floor. Mirage was strolling in with Wraith and Octane--the last ones that would round out their sixty people. Bloodhound watched as the man fiddled absentmindedly with the disks running up their arms while Wraith snapped at him with irritability. Octane just looked tired and dazed. They watched the man idly adjust his gear, but all the while his dark eyes were scanning the crowd. He was looking for someone, and something dark in the pit of Bloodhound's belly stirred knowing it was them he was looking for. And when those dark chocolate eyes finally fell on the red lenses of Bloodhound's goggles and his eyebrows flew up, Bloodhound knew they had been right in their assumption. Their mask concealed their smirk as Mirage wandered over. His gait held a bit of a swagger, although the confidence didn't necessarily make it to his face. And what a handsome face. He looked a little tussled like had had just woken up, and if that wasn't a little sexy...

  
The gates had just begun to open, and teams were being called to line up to get on the dropship. Octane looked like he was trying to shepherd Mirage towards the doors, but that didn't stop Elliott from breaking away for a moment to try to have a word with Bloodhound.

  
               "I hope you're ready," Mirage said, bold and prideful to Bloodhound who pushed away gently from the wall they were leaning on. "I've been cooking up a scheme that's sure to get me to number one today." A smirk lit up his face. "Then you'll have to go on that dinner date with me."

  
The two were about the same height, although with a bit of heel to their shoes, Bloodhound had the slightest advantage and was able to look down at the decoy expert. Mirage was a strange combination of confidence and unsure of himself--both of which were charming in their own way. The way his Adam's Apple bobbed as he could guess Bloodhound was staring him down thrilled them all the more. He was nervous...perhaps scared of the hunter--as he should be. It was going to be a good game. Bloodhound gave a soft chuckle, barely audible over the crowd. "Oh, we will see about that, Trickster." They reached out and poked at Mirage's chest, making the man stamper a little bit. "When you are the color of a banana, we'll see how easy it is for you to remain hidden. May the All Father give you some luck in your battle today. And I hope you ate a large breakfast. You're going to be hungry later."

  
They walked away to join up with Bangalore and Lifeline, but as they left Mirage, they could hear a quiet "god damn" slip from his lips.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're feeling up to it, leave a kudos and a comment. I would love to hear what you all think of the fic so far :)


	4. Water Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been active recently. Work has been getting busier and busier and life's been tossing me more lemons than I can juggle. I decided to split this part into two for the sake of the flow. Hope you enjoy. And follow me over on twitter at @DarkModeTea so I don't feel like I'm rambling to myself.

The Apex games as a whole were crazy--what with the heart-pounding shoot outs, the enemy traps, and the burning ring itself. But there was something insane about jumping from the transport from so high up and jetting down faster and faster while the ground races to meet you. The squeak of the transport's hinges alert the teams that they've reached King's Canyon airspace. Jetpacks are all adjusted on everyone's shoulders, and last minute checks on coms are done.

  
Mirage, who was standing huddled with Wraith and Octane, risked a glance over at Bloodhound who was saying something that made Lifeline laugh. It was impossible to see their expression with the mask and goggles in the way. Did they experience the brief flutter of fear when jumping that Mirage did in the pit of his stomach? Did they revel in the wind sailing past them on their way down? His mind was full of the famous champion. Something prideful in him couldn't help but wonder how Bloodhound would look across the table from him at dinner. Mirage caught the tilt of the champion's head in his direction, but before they could yell anything, a buzzer went off overhead. All at once the noise in the cabin turned deafeningly loud as the wind sailed in from the open hatchback. They were thousands of feet up, staring at the rock hard ground below. Coms clicked on--the only way of communicating until they reached the quieter ground. Mirage's team was set to land at Water Treatment with the plan to head up towards Market after obtaining guns. Other teams were already jumping, eager to begin and get loot.

  
Mirage smirked. "Oh yeah, master of the jump right---"

  
Octane pushed by as Wraith and Mirage made his way towards the open hatch. "See you on the ground, amigos!" He ran into place before lurching out of the transport. His call of "Plus Ultra!" could be heard as the speed demon plummeted towards the ground.

  
Wraith sighed and motioned for Mirage to follow as she ran towards the opening on the transport and leapt out. So much for landing as a team. So much for him leading the charge and looking cool as jump master. Mirage looked back over his shoulder and seemingly made eye contact with Bloodhound. The champion raised their hand up towards him with their middle and index pointing at Mirage, and their thumb straight up while their other two fingers were curled in.

  
 _A gun_ , Mirage realized dumbly.

  
He watched as Bloodhound made the gesture of taking a shot before they raced forward out of the transport flanked by Lifeline and Bangalore. Mirage stood there stunned for a moment before jumping as well, heart in his throat as he fell from the sky.

* * *

  
There was the sound of gunfire all around him as he landed. Wraith had radioed him when she dropped, alerting him to the other team that had also chosen Water Treatment. The second his feet touched the ground he was rushing into a tall building with steps that led to a second floor. Loot would (hopefully) be dotted throughout a couple of buildings and their skywalks, but the first floor had already been picked clean. With the sound of gunfire echoing in his com, he made haste up to the second floor, keeping an eye around him for--

  
A bullet whizzed by him.

  
An unfamiliar voice raised over the following spray of bullets. "There's another one--!" An enemy had spotted him. And as another blast went off as Elliott scrambled over a closed in walkway and shut the door behind him, he realized his pursuer had a--   
"Peacekeeper--" He pressed a finger to his com as he hustled into the next room. "Guys I don't have any weapons--" Behind him came the distinct sound of a boot kicking in the door.

  
Octane's voice came through over the sound of gunfire. "Should be a Wingman in the room you're in, amigo!" There was a loud exploding sound of a grenade going off, followed by an excited holler from Octane. "Haha! Barbequed baby! Smoked 'em!"

  
True to Octane's word, in a pile with a helmet and a knockdown shield was a lone Wingman and a pack of heavy ammo. Mirage slid behind a nearby box to equip the shield and helmet, then quickly loaded the gun just in time for the enemy to come charging in. He took aim and managed to get off enough hits to break the man's armor before having to stop and reload. In that time, the man cocked his Peacekeeper and was charging Elliott. What the man didn't see, however, was the blue and silver swirling vortex that had appeared in the doorway that he had entered from. Not a second too soon, Wraith was stepping through and spraying into the back of Mirage's attacker with an R-301. With his armor already broken through from Mirage's Wingman, the body box appeared in no time at all.

  
Wraith smirked as she reloaded and advanced on Mirage. "Dusted a whole squad. Where have you been?" Her tone may be deadpan, but her eyes held a smirk that didn't quite reach her mouth.

  
Mirage flipped her off and began rummaging through the box--making sure to keep the Peacekeeper and shotgun shells for himself. "Trying to find loot. Maybe if you and Octane didn't take it all..." Basic body armor, two arc stars, and a grenade rounded off his loot. He stood up and dusted himself off. "Speaking of, where...?"

  
His partner motioned for him to follow. They walked to the far side of the room where windows allowed them to gaze down to the outer portion of the building. Underneath one of the walkways, Mirage could see Octane squatting next to a deathbox--presumably the one unlucky bastard he blew up with a grenade. In his hand was a selfie stick with his phone on the other end. The stunt man was flashing peace signs and making all sorts of poses. It wasn't uncommon for him to stop to take pictures; he was famous outside of the ring for doing insane stunts, and he had a massive following on social media. Mirage had been following Octane online before they met inside the ring so he knew the kind of blogger-like limelight life the man led, but seeing the photos being taken in real time was just...something else. Octane struck several poses--flashing peace signs, standing tilted on one leg, swatting--even as he heard his teammates approach.

  
"Having fun?" Mirage asked semi-sourly. "I could have used your help." Above uncharacteristically dark clouds were beginning to roll in. But it never rained in the arena.

  
Octane collapsed his selfie stick and turned his attention to his phone. Quick as lightning, he typed up a little blurb, looked through his photos, picked one, and then posted it to all of his platforms with a press of a button. "I knew Wraith had your back. Don't pout hermano!"

  
Mirage couldn't help but sigh. Octane was an idiot, but at least he was loveable. "Alright...where are we headed to now? Looks like it might ra--"

  
The words were barely out of his mouth before a bullet whizzed by his face, missing the tip of his nose by merely an inch.

  
"Shit--"

  
Wraith was already darting away from the buildings towards a close by dip in the ground—an old vat that had once processed water. Octane and Mirage followed suit, Mirage practically scrambling to keep up with the other two. A chorus of yells went up from the second level of one of the Water Treatment buildings they had just been in; another team had snuck in while Mirage and his team had been looting the dead and had set up shop on the upper story. Mirage's team scurried across the vat before ducking low. The occasional gunshot hit the metal of the vat just above their head, a sign that their location was still known.

  
Mirage glanced around. There was no easy way out. If their enemy had the high ground and knew their location, any attempt to climb out of the hole in the ground would have them shot. Even Wraith would have to climb out herself if she were to attempt a portal. It was risky, and this early on they couldn't afford to lose anyone--

  
"Stand back." Octane's voice startled Mirage and Wraith both. They couldn't see his face because of his mask and goggles, but underneath his eyes were practically gleaming. "Ol' Octane has a plan."

  
Immediately suspicious, Wraith hissed, "A plan?" Not that Octane wasn't smart or a good tactician in some degree--you had to be in order to have several wins under your belt--but he was more known for the devil's own luck (just like Elliott) and his off the wall plays that take people by surprise. When Octane 'had an idea', his teammates were more than likely to groan.

  
From his back, Octane pulled a small disk and a pump. After attaching the pump to the nozzle sticking out of the disk, he quickly--almost too fast to track--made up and down movements on the pump. Within seconds the disk had inflated to two to three times its normal size reveal a green--

  
"Jump pad," Octane said simply. He removed the pump, placing it back in his back, and capped the pad with care. "It might be a little risky but I'll bet money the idiotas won't be able to hit us." Wraith and Mirage glanced at each other. It was definitely risky. Octane caught their looks. "Unless you both have a better plan. We can't stand here all day amigos. Plus this will look good for the cameras~"

  
The voices of the enemy team could be heard creeping closer. Having not seen Mirage's team leave, they knew they were still down in the vat and sought to finish them off and get a move on. "Like shooting fish in a barrel", as some cowboys were oft to say. Over the coms, a female robotic voice announced that the ring would be shrinking shortly. While Wraith and Mirage fumbled mentally trying to come up with less suicidal plans to escape, Octane backed up to the opposite end of the vat. From a pouch, he produced a syringe filled with a neon green liquid--his "go go juice" as Mirage referred to it.

  
Elliott froze and stared at his friend when he caught sight of the glowing green. "Oh no."

  
Octane plunged the syringe into a spot on his chest and jammed down the plunger as he began running in pace. The green liquid disappeared into his body, flooding his veins with sudden almost electric energy. "Must. Go. FASTER!" In a blink, the daredevil was running across the distance of the vat and slamming his metal feet into the jump pad. He sprung high into the air, over the vat, over the general area they were in. Wraith, Mirage, and the three guys of the opposing team all froze as they saw the man launch himself high into the air in an arch, laughing like a hyena, heading for the distant tree line. There was a call from one of the enemies to start shooting, but it came as Mirage and Wraith made the split second decision to launch themselves after Octane.

  
The regret was immediate. Mirage hit the bouncy pad and was shot up into the air like a cannon shot. Which was, a little fun at least. But there was a precise moment where his upwards momentum stopped, and as gunfire attempted to make him swiss cheese, he began to drop. The ground and trees were racing upwards to meet him, and he had lost sight of Octane and Wraith.

  
(He then proceeded for the next several years to deny that he screamed like a school girl during his decent and that Wraith and Octane "Obviously can't recall stories correctly".)

* * *

  
From a nearby rooftop, Bloodhound watched the events of Water Treatment unfold. It was hard to keep a stoic face underneath the mask--even if nobody saw, but for themself. Mirage certainly was a lucky son of a bitch. Somehow managing to survive the initial encounter, then escape unscathed using Octane's method.

  
Although it looked like Wraith perhaps wasn't as fortunate.

  
Before meeting them in the arena, Hound had never heard of the man. But whispers certainly had begun circulating about the man once they became aware of him--a true example of Baader–Meinhof effect if there ever was one. Some called him a tech genius. The disks that lined his arms were somehow able to create hologram clones of himself--complete with facets of his flirty and charming personality that he used to not only evade gunfights and confuse enemies in the arena, but to also flirt and take pictures with people at the bar he worked at. Some called him a silver-tongued playboy. He had apparently dated several other Legends women that he had swooning at his charm. This brought him popularity with some, mainly who found him good looking and generally disliked by those who were jealous of his popularity. There were several tabloid articles with clippings of him kissing on women, sometimes in private and other times plainly before the cameras. There was even a whole story about him hooking up with an ex-girlfriend while in King's Canyon, including pictures that had made Hound feel almost jealous to look at. They had both looked surprised and disheveled, but the girl had looked mighty pleased with herself. There was also a dating profile that was circulating (that Hound hadn't had time to read).

  
And with a FAQ asking if Mirage actually fucked pumpkins.

  
Which was something Bloodhound was going to bring up during their--

  
 _No. There isn't going to be a date. I will be victorious_. After all, Bloodhound was chosen by the gods. Even if suddenly they felt a little disappointed by that fact.

  
A light flush came to Bloodhound's cheeks as they watched the interesting man land with a fumble just near a tree line and go scrambling to meet up with Octane out of the sniper's sight. Through the scope, they could see a big grin on the man's face and sweat beading on his forehead, and it brought up images of what the hunter had imagined on their sofa under that blanket. Dashing smile, a smooth masculine voice, a tangle of curls all askew from Hound's hands running through them. Bloodhound was a killer, an elite hunter. And here they were getting flustered thinking about some boy. They weren't a teen for All Father's sake. But they had seen how tight that yellow suit was on that ass while he ran...

  
_Focus._

  
There were more yells as the three enemies used Octane's own bounce pad to pursue Mirage's group.

  
As the champion was watching the men spring into the air and land ungracefully up the hill, something pinged against their armor. It wasn't a hard impact, but it definitely had been something. They lowered their gun and peered up through their goggles and then--a drop hit their google lens. One after another, followed by a bellow of a roar.

  
Thunder.

  
Rain began falling. First, it was merely a drop here and there, but as the moments passed it began steadily falling. Bloodhound extended their gloved hand as if to catch the drops. It never rained during a game. The weather was always hot as summer with a bright sky. This was new. Was this the game-master's doing? Or the All Father? Bloodhound would investigate later.

  
 _"Anything to report?"_ came Lifeline's voice through the com. She and Bangalore were looting nearby and had let Bloodhound keep an eye on the three groups that had landed in Water Treatment. Bloodhound could faintly hear Bangalore cursing, _'Fuck is it raining?'_ in the background.

  
"There is a squad and a half heading north," Bloodhound informed them.

  
Bangalore cut in. _"They going up towards us in Market? Or Repulsor?"_

  
Bloodhound quickly looked through the scope again and watched the nameless group disappear out of sight. "They are along the water. My guess would be Repulsor. They will still be looking for loot." Water Treatment wasn't known for having amazing gear, but usually, it was a safe spot to land and at least get a gun in your hands. For three squads to drop there at once was a little unusual. Just like the rain.

  
The rain had picked up. A steady curtain of wet fell, occasionally brushed to the side by a gust of wind. Where the rain had come from was uncertain, but not necessarily unwanted. Bloodhound stood up and slid the sniper rifle to the strap across their back. Rain meant mud. And mud meant footprints. They were a master tracker to be sure, but this would make it easier to hunt down the trickster...

  
_And put an end to our game._

  
With the grace of a large feline, Bloodhound climbed down from the building top and slid down the mow mucky hillside to follow behind the two teams. They walked past a death box, still containing what little loot the legend had on them. The kill, although appearing at first to be a shot from the other team--fired at Mirage's team as they leaped into the air--had been a sniper shot meant for the holotech expert. Alas. Bloodhound ran their fingers across the wet top of the box, smearing rain across Wraith's portrait.

  
"No hard feelings."

* * *

  
_You're being watched._

  
She had thought that the voices had meant the group pursuing them, that one was taking aim as she launched herself up into the air with Octane's bounce device. How wrong she had been. She had been too high up to protect herself when she had glimpsed the sniper on the roof and seen the gleam of the scope. The lone shot they fired was masked by the series of others fired by the third party team that had chased them from Water Treatment, and with Mirage and Octane ahead of her and eager to get out of firing distance...neither had heard her shields shatter and her fall to her death.

  
Now she watched the big monitor on the wall of the room she woke in. A blanket draped across her shoulders, and a mug of hot coffee from the machine was cradled in her hands as she watched her killer approach her box. They flipped it open and found nothing worth taking--which made her grit her teeth just a little bit. It was hard not to feel a little slighted by that. Was her loot worth nothing? But she saw who it was--the mask and the bulky fur-lined coat...Bloodhound, the AllFather's Champion. No wonder she had fallen so quick. It looked like their gun was already pretty supped up--perhaps their team had hit Market before circling down.

  
Wraith watched Bloodhound leave her box and begin hustling up the hill after her team and the ones that had attacked them. She could only hope that her boys would see she got gunned down, and not be taken by surprise. It was one thing to have the other group pursuing them...but Bloodhound was the far bigger threat.

  
What was their saying? A chill ran down Wraith's spine.

  
 _When we meet, I will slatra_. 


	5. Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, I'm back.

Mirage's lungs hurt--ached sharply in his chest as he pressed himself against the trunk of a tree. He wanted to gasp for breath and take in lungful after lungful of the air he so desperately needed. But to make a noise right now would mean his death. Octane was in a similar situation a couple trees down, practically shaking as he held in his noises. Rain poured down above them and lightning cracked across the sky. The limbs of the trees groaned as they began to be pulled downward by the deluge and the earth beneath Mirage's boots was so muddy he felt like he might sink.

The minute they had landed having been airborne from hopping on Octane's mat they realized something was wrong. Wraith didn't land beside them, and when pinged on her com all they heard was static. She had fallen somewhere behind them, and they hadn't even noticed. Octane had suggested it was one of the blokes who were attacking them from Water Treatment. Mirage knew better. Her killer had probably been hiding with a brilliant vantage point, watching the fighting unfold, and with a single pull of their trigger finger had taken Wraith away. And he could feel them on the move.

Down the hill, the bunch from Water Treatment were making no effort to be silent; they had seen Wraith fall (each assuming the other had shot her in their hailstorm of bullets) and knew they had numbers on their side. Elliott could hear them cussing as they attempted to dig their feet into the muddy slopes to climb their way up towards Repulsor--which he and Octane were right outside of.

Mirage kept his voice low in his com. "We have to move into Repulsor." Currently they were hanging around just outside of it. They still had to go up the hill to finally get to the loot and to cover.

Octane tapped his com. He would only just be heard over the constant beat of the rain. "Amigo, it looks like the place had a shoot-out. There's blood on the walls--"

Mirage made and annoyed sound. "Then what do you want to do? We can't head back down, they'll--"

          "It would be easier if Wraith was still here," Octane pouted.

          "Well she's not." He couldn't help if his tone was a bit clipped and agitated. He hadn't been paying attention and Wraith fell. Could he have saved her? Been just a little more vigilant? He couldn't dial back the clock to save her though--he had to keep forging forward.

The daredevil cast a look down the hill. He knew as well as Mirage that they didn't have much time. They were outnumbered now, and out in the rain wasn't the best place to engage in battle. "We might as well try. Maybe we can make a tr---" A gun shot could be heard pinging off the tree close to Octane through his mic. "Shit..." From his pocket he grabbed his green needle.

Mirage's eyes jerked wide seeing the familiar liquid. "You fucker don't--"

          "Got to go faster!" Plunging the needle into his chest he took off up the hill at a run. Mud flew behind his metal feet as he jetted up the hill into Repulsor.

His teammate cursed and pushed himself off his own tree. He scrambled to catch up, but the mud was practically eating his boots as he trekked upwards. The group that was coming up the hill opened fire on the hustling Mirage. As another bullet whizzed by his face, he activated the hologram tech that lined his arms. A little zap of light pinged from one panel to the next, and suddenly there were six Mirages darting every which way. The trio that had been following started firing at any of them, completely fooled by the handsome holograms. Although he was able to create these copies, he couldn't control them when he created so many. As a result, two ended up darting up the hill towards Repuslor. If he were to follow them he would become a prime target.

 _I should probably try to program them a little smarter,_ Mirage thought dryly to himself. This wouldn't be the first time that his holograms weren't exactly the most helpful in a situation.

It was a gamble, but he turned away from Repulsor, and away from his remaining team mate. He altered his running a little--made it clumsier and something akin to what an AI would do, and headed to the northwest. The rain was coming down as hard as ever, creating near white out conditions as he was pelted with wet and heavy wind. But over the howls he could hear the trio heading up towards Repuslor and after one of his clones.

Sure he was out of sight, he reached up and pulled his goggles down over his eyes to shield him until he could get to Market. He wouldn't risk coming for Octane until he knew he was sheltered, but by then it might be too late. If the three enemies found Octane...Mirage doubted he would be able to take them each out. Guilt swelled in his chest as he moved away from Repulsor...but surely Octane and Wraith would forgive him if he won. All it would take would be for him to make it to Market. Hopefully there would be at least some loot left over...or if he got a kill on someone with better gear...then he might have a chance.

 _I could hide out for a while_ , he reasoned as he moved. He had darted back down the hill away from Repulsor and moved along the river that headed out to sea. If he followed the water, he would end up near Bridges. Despite his thought of hiding out, he knew he couldn't possibly just lie in wait for the last team standing to come find him. He had made a bet with Bloodound for that date, and there was no way in hell he was going to ask the infamous Bloodhound, the reigning champion of the Apex games to a date won only through stalling and hiding. There was no honor in that (although it was a smart tactic overall). He wanted there to be no doubt that he was the best--better than even Bloodhound--and that he had _earned_ that date. Nobody, especially not his date, was going to say he was there by luck alone.

But this was a lot of mud and rain to be going through for a drink after work.

Several minutes passed by as he made his way upriver. He knew there was a shallow spot dotted with larger rocks that he would hopefully be able to use to get across the river. After that it would be a short run to Market. The water was roaring by as he approached the shoreline. Flowing in cold from the north, the swollen river beat against the rocks, making them barely visible above the current. Mirage bit his lip, debating as he eyed the rocks disappearing under the water. He could probably cross here and make it to Market--it was just up the hill more or less. But the rocks looked slippery, and--

 _Fuck it_.

Nobody ever won fans or glory by being super careful. Mirage tapped his com. "Hey, I couldn't make it to--"

The sound of gunshots filled his com as Octane tapped in. "Yeah I _noticed_ \--mierda!" Mirage's teammate let out a string of low curses as the sound of metal bounced off a surface next to him. "It's a good thing you didn't come--there's more than one team here."

Unknown to either of the men, not only did the Water Treatment team follow, but another group had already made it to Repulsor and had just wiped another team. On top of that, Bangalore and Lifeline had arrived as well in an attempt to meet up with Bloodhound. Octane himself was squeezed into a little nook of a room, ramming bullets into his gun and trying not to waste them.

Mirage, turned and looked back towards Repulsor. He could hear the gunfire loudly over the rain and the river. That kind of noise would draw other teams like moths to a flame. It was going to be a bloodbath. "I...I can come back--I can help get you--"

          "No!" Octane's words were sharp. "No, stay away from here. There's no need for us both to die."

That didn't set right with Mirage who, although he was pretty vain and full of himself, didn't like leaving a teammate behind. And this would be the second one this game that he had.

A sudden rumbling filled the air. Over Repulsor out of the sky began hailing large streaks of fire, as if the end time were upon them. But Mirage knew what they were, and knew who had called them.

There was some static on his mic. "Fuck--Bangalore's mort---"

Loud thundering filled the ear piece, loud enough Mirage had to fling it away from his face. He had been caught in Bangalore's attack before, and those weapons hailing from above killed on impact; it made you feel as though your very soul was knocked from your body. Mirage stood rooted in place, watching from the river as the mortars fell on Repulsor, and listened to the explosions drowning out the smaller gunfire.

Until silence.

There wasn't a single pop of a gun, no retaliation fire, not even a rallying call. Seconds rolled by as Mirage debated returning to Octane, perhaps only to collect his banner.

Then there was a crackle in his ear piece--a sharp noises followed by muffled words. Mirage scrambled to put the piece back in his ear. "Octane? Octane!"

          "I'll meet you at Markets, amigo--" He could just barely make Octane's voice through the mic. The static slowly gave way to a clear line. A couple gunshots were heard nearby, and Octane dropped his voice. "Sounds like Bang off'd everyone...Don't worry, I'll keep low and meet up with you."

Mirage opened his mouth to protest, but clamped it shut. Octane wasn't some newbie--he could handle himself. He already lost Wraith...he had to be smart. "Alright, I'll wait for you at Market. Hurry up. Radio silence until then."

          "Gotcha, Jefe."

The com cut out and Mirage took off. Carefully he hopped across the rocks that led across the river. Once his foot almost gave out on the slippery surface, but he was just barely able to maintain his balance. By pure luck he got across without having fallen in, and without anyone taking shots at him. From the riverbank it was only a short scramble uphill--although made difficult by the rain--to a cluster of buildings.

* * *

 

Mirage slid down the rope hanging from the large opening in the building. Rain gushed around him, making the rope slippery, but luckily his gloves took the brunt of it. He landed in a puddle on the concrete floor on the bottom level of the largest Market building. All around him was silent save for the pitter patter of rain hitting the metal roof.

He quickly drew his weapon and darted out of the open and towards a small open room-like crevice off to the side. Usually the tarp which was laid out on the ground contained ammo or even a shitty gun, but at that moment it was empty. A cursory glance around found more of the same.

          "Place has been picked clean," Mirage huffed to himself. He fiddled with his hologear for a moment, checking to make sure the rain hadn't damaged anything. The silence was keeping him on edge.

Backtracking, he headed up a nearby set of steps and into a glassed in room. The loot was gone except for an empty Mozambique---it was always a Moz. _Always._ He kept the door behind him open for a quick escape and crept around the half wall that divided the room in half. He would have the perfect view through the glass of most of the building, and he would have the wall at his back.

As soon as he slid down to sit, gun cradled in his lap, he felt a sudden overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. How long had this game been going? It felt like it had been hours since his team had touched down and the fire fight began. His heart was still pounding from all the adrenaline. Maybe it was because there was more on the line for this game. Or maybe it was fear--after all, he knew Bloodhound was stalking his every move.

He realized as he looked down at his gloved hands the small tremors that were moving through them. Even flexing his fingers didn't stop the shaking. Slowly he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try to settle his nerves.

          "What are you so wound up about, Witt?" he asked himself quietly.

          "What indeed."

Mirage didn't have time to scramble up before someone was on him. Hands grabbed onto his shoulders, forcing him away from the wall across the walkway to press forcefully against the glass. The trickster had to stifle a startled cry. His knees slid across the floor, leaving burning bruises in their wake. One of the hands slid from his shoulder to press forward between his shoulder blades, while the other darted up his neck, tangling itself in his curls and keeping his cheek to the glass. Mirage went to move for his gun but the hand in his hair jerked his head back just enough that his hair roots protested with a shot of pain. There was then the sound of his gun being kicked away, clattering across the tile flooring. 

          "Do not move."

The voice sent a visible shutter down his body. When he opened his eyes and glanced into the reflection in the glass, he could see a dark figure...and the red gleam of their goggle lens.

The hunter behind him chuckled and adjusted their grip in his hair, softening it only a fraction. "It seems I have finally caught up to you, my _refur_."

Mirage's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He knew who it was, oh did he know--the burden of that knowledge was that something other than his belt was pressing again the cold glass in front of him. And he knew how damned he was. How could he have let them get the jump on him?

          "You are a slippery one," the voice continued, teasing him. "I thought I could pick you off leaving Water Treatment--"

          "I knew it--you're the one that got Wraith," Mirage half-heartedly growled.

          "The bullet was meant for you, but it seems the All Father had other plans." The missed target brought no tears to the hunter. A dark chuckle came right next to Mirage's ear. "How fortunate for me."

Bloodhound's hands began pulling him up to standing, and with the tight grip they had, Mirage had to go with it. Soon Mirage was standing, but still pressed to the glass by one of Bloodhound's hands in his hair. The other now reached down between them to encircle his wrists. Mirage's breath was coming quicker than before as he tried to anticipate what was going to happen.

And of course, that dream from the night before was ringing out in his head like a siren's call. In that he had been hunted into hiding and dominated. He found himself biting his lip and glancing into the glass in front of him. What a sight--his cheeks were flushed, and his brows knitted, and Bloodhound, well, he couldn't see their face, but they were intimidating pressed up behind him like they were.

Boldness took his tongue and ran. "Now that you have me, what are you going to do?" He knew he was being bold, cheeky, _daring_ , but that damned dream was in his mind and that moan from it waiting to slip past his lips.

He felt Bloodhound pause behind him--the fingers that had been wiggling slightly in his hair had all but frozen. Mirage had an icy feeling beginning to unwind through him as he considered maybe he had said the wrong thing. Had he misread the situation? Was he just being a horny bastard?

There was a loud click, shattering the silence between them, which had Mirage jolting slightly. The hand that was holding his head was gone but-- "Do not turn," Bloodhound demanded.

Mirage's eyes glanced up into hazy reflection in the glass. He could see Bloodhound's gloved hand moving around on their face, and realized only after a long beat that they were removing their mask.

          "Holy shit--"

The portion that concealed their mouth clattered down to hang around their neck like jewelry. Mirage couldn't see all that well through the dirty glass, but he could see pale skin and scars that cut across their chin and peach lips. The rest of their face was still obscured by their goggles and the straps that attached to their brimmed hat.

The other hand that was holding his wrists together released. "Hands on the glass."

He did let a heavy breath out then in lieu of a moan.

 _God, this is like the start of a porno--_ He thought to himself. Mirage almost wanted to feel embarrassed that he was this eager for such an encounter, but all that he could feel was lust in his veins. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who felt some type of way about their encounter in bunker in the previous game. And _that_ was certainly a surprise. When he had approached Bloodhound after his lost to them the other day, he had been shocked to find Bloodhound allowing his obvious flirting, let alone the little nose tap the trickster had received back. But to think that the champion of the Apex games would be currently behind him, voice sounding anything but innocent as they stripped their mask off...he certainly hadn't anticipated. Hoped for, yes, but certainly hadn't expected.

It was just a question of which game was Bloodhound more interested in playing--the killing sport, or a game of bodies?

Obediently he raised his hands up to press on the glass. Mirage felt Bloodhound retreat back slightly, allowing him to shift a little to get more comfortable. Knowing that Bloodhound was sensitive about people seeing them, Mirage allowed his head to droop a little in-between his arms so his eyes were on the floor.

There was a slight shuffle of fabric being pulled behind him, followed by the softest sound of something light hitting the floor. A moment later he felt warm sliding up his neck--something soft yet firm.

A hand.

Bloodhound's ungloved hand slowly slid underneath Mirage's scarf, yanking it open for more room, then moving upwards. The effect was immediate. The warm ghosting motion sent a shiver down Mirage's spine, accompanied by a wave of goosebumps over his arms. Bloodhound couldn't see those bumps, but they certainly could guess the effect they had on the man by the fact he was biting softly into his lower lip. In the reflection Mirage could barely make out dark ink scribbled across Bloodhound's pale fingers and the backs of their hands--tattoos that looked slightly geometric, like runes. Their nails also appeared to be painted black and immaculately short.

          "N-Never took you for one to have tattoos," Mirage stammered, trying to fill the tense silence with noise.

There was light chuckle from behind him. "I have heard that you cannot bear silence, and it appears those rumors are right." Their fingers, which had slid up Mirage's neck fully then slowly graced the hinge of his jaw with the softest touch. "I have several, if you must know." Then, after a moment where their nails scratched up the outer shell of the trickster's ear, whispered, "All over my body."

Mirage swallowed the lump in his throat. This was moving so fast. One minute he's getting shot at, and the next he and Bloodhound..."I haven't even bought you dinner yet," Mirage teased as one of Bloodhound's hand's slid down his stubbly jaw and to his neck.

That hand suddenly squeezed, choking Mirage enough to make him gasp sharply. "And you won't," Bloodhound purred.

If the hunter thought the gesture would invoke fear, they were wrong. Instead, Mirage bucked back slightly with a moan, his brown eyes fluttering a little at the pressure on his neck. Bloodhound must have looked startled under their mask as the noise made them pull their hand back.

Mirage felt his entire face heat up with embarrassment. He turned away from the glass and towards Bloodhound. "S-Sorr-"

He couldn't help it. His eyes immediately zoomed into Bloodhound's exposed lips, and to the smile they were sporting. Sultry was all the trickster could describe it as, but he couldn't even focus on it--not when he caught sight of the gold plated canines. There was no concealing his reaction, not with how his suit hugged his body. And he knew Bloodhound saw if that devilish smirk was anything to go off of.

          "I bet you just want to disappear." Bloodhound ran their tongue over their fangs, drawing attention to the sparkling gold. As if they thought Mirage was even capable of looking away. They took a step forward.

Mirage took a step back, banging his back against the glass. His hands were held out in front of him. "T-The thought c-crossed my mind."

Bloodhound placed a hand beside Mirage's head. They were so close their chests were almost touching, and with those fangs Mirage looked more like the hunter's prey by the second.

Bloodhound leaned in, ghosting their face so their lips were just a hair away from Mirage's. "It is a shame I have to--"

A loud blast echoed in the room.

Blood splattered against the glass, and second later a deathbox clattered to the ground.

Octane stood with his gun raised and smoke coming from the gun's barrel.

The decoy which had been standing in front of the glass looked around before disappearing in a shock of light while the real Mirage stepped out from the other side of the half wall, Mozambique in hand. His mouth had fallen open in a gape, and tossed his hands in the air in agitation.

          " _BRO._ "

* * *

 

As it turned out, Mirage had been planning to bamboozle Bloodhound from the moment they showed up in the room with him. A quick swap out while invisible had ensured he had snuck away, and with space in between his decoy and Bloodhound, the champion would have never known it wasn’t the real deal—at least not until they touched ‘Mirage’ anyway. It had been the perfect chance to slip away, grab his gun, and get the one up on his prospective date.

Octane however had seen the two through the glass window and, thinking that his teammate was in trouble, took the initiative...and the killing blow.

Elliott couldn't be too mad, especially not after they were later handed a victory by taking down Lifeline and Bangalore, but he hadn't been the one to kill Bloodhound. As he walked backstage, having switched into civilian clothes to head home, he couldn't help but despair that not only had he just outted one of his best tricks for nothing, but the date was lost.

It was as he was turning a corner approaching the exit he saw a familiar figure lounging against the wall. Bloodhound.

Seeing Elliott out of the corner of their eye, Bloodhound turned and began walking to meet the other legend halfway. Elliott tried to avoid looking at them when they finally came to stop in front of one another.

But of course, he hated silence. "That...wasn't how it was supposed to go," he mumbled.

Bloodhound folded their arms across their chest. "Clearly. I saw the replay when I woke up."

Elliott ran a hand through his curls while the other shoved itself deeply in the front pocket of his mustard colored hoodie. "The decoy--"

          "Was an excellent choice," Bloodhound cut in, holding up a hand to halt the rant's beginning. “I was…how do you say it? ‘Completely baboozed’. The switch out of you and your clone was not noticed by my eye—I did not expect the trickery…especially not given your…bodily reactions to the situation.”

Elliott knew he was being teased, but his face heated up all the same. Was Bloodhound still flirting with him?

While Elliott was mulling this over, Bloodhound asked, “Where are we meeting for dinner?”

That certainly broke through to the trickster, who intelligently went, “Huh?” in reply.

Bloodhound sighed as they shifted closer, nearly chest to chest with Elliott. “I was told you would be taking me to dinner if you won.” They pointedly looked down at the metal award hanging around Elliott’s neck. “And you were part of the champion team, were you not?”

          “But I…But I didn’t kill you,” Elliott spluttered. His stomach was fluttering with butterflies, and he suddenly couldn’t stand still and instead was shifting back and forth between his feet.

The other Legend chuckled. “I do believe the requirement was that you _win_ , Elliott.” They tapped the end of his nose in a teasing gesture, just like when the original deal was struck. “While normally it would come down to you having to attempt to kill me for a win—“ there was an air of pride in their voice at this—“you…lucked out.”

Elliott still couldn’t believe this was happening. “H-How so?”

Bloodhound glanced around and, upon seeing that the hall was empty except for them, pulled up the mask across their mouth. Elliott didn’t have time to admire the scars or gold fangs again before Bloodhound was tipping up to press their lips together. All Elliott registered was warm and softness before Bloodhound was drawing away and placing their mask back on. Elliott could only stand there and gape while trying to hid his burning blush with his hand.

          “You’re lucky your teammate had your back,” Bloodhound said. “Now…when are you picking me up for dinner?”

 

         

 

 

         

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As most of you have probably noticed it's been months since the last update. My mental health has been at an all time low and I found it incredibly hard to write a story for a fandom that I'm frankly no longer really interested in. I still am amused by Elliott in particular, but I didn't get invested in Apex like I thought I would. 
> 
> That being said I do still plan on finishing this fic, but it'll probably be incredibly slow. So just...hang in there. I do see all of your comments on the fic, and I'm still shocked that so many people seem to enjoy it. I'll try my hardest for all of you :) Please keep leaving comments and kudos!


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